The academy gates closed behind them with a sound like a verdict.
Runes flared across the obsidian stone, scanning bloodlines, mana signatures, and hidden enchantments. One by one, students passed throughsome smug, some nervous, some already radiating power as if daring the world to challenge them.
When Ryomen stepped forward, the runes hesitated.
Just for a fraction of a second.
Then they dimmed, recalibrated, and allowed him through.
A nearby instructor frowned. "Did the array just"
"Interference," another said quickly. "Happens sometimes with mixed bloodlines."
Ryomen continued walking, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed.
Good, he thought. Blame the system. Systems always get blamed.
Elowen Sylfaeris POV
That was wrong.
Elowen stopped mid-step, fingers tightening around her staff as the mana flow around the gates stuttered and corrected itself. It wasn't dramaticno surge, no collapsebut to her senses, it felt like a river briefly flowing uphill before pretending it hadn't.
Her eyes followed the source instinctively.
A boy in an academy uniform. Dark hair. Calm expression. No visible aura. No arrogance.
Too clean.
Mana always left fingerprints. Even beginners leaked intent, emotion, instability.
He leaked nothing.
"That one," she murmured.
Her companion blinked. "What about him? He's… normal."
Elowen didn't answer.
Mana did not lie.
But just nowit had dodged.
---
Ryomen
Orientation was exactly as expected.
Grand speeches about unity. Warnings about demon infiltration. Thinly veiled threats about expulsionor worsefor those who abused power.
Ryomen listened politely and memorized faces.
The loud noble who would overextend.
The quiet prodigy hiding insecurity.
The instructor who pretended not to notice corruption.
The dragonkin woman leaning against a pillar, arms crossed, eyes locked on him.
Ah, he noted. First complication.
Their gazes met.
Gold eyes. Ancient. Assessing.
Ryomen looked away firstnot out of fear, but calculation. Dragons noticed things. Dragons remembered things.
He did not need her curiosity yet.
Aurelyx Val'Drath POV
Impossible.
Aurelyx straightened slowly, scales along her collarbone heating beneath her skin. She had felt it the moment he passed the gatea pressure she hadn't sensed since ancient memories whispered by her blood.
Not divine.
Not demonic.
Balanced.
Her lips curled faintly.
"A human academy," she muttered. "And they hide something like that?"
She exhaled smoke she did not allow to show.
Interesting.
The first practical assessment came faster than expected.
A controlled dungeon.
Academy instructors summoned a stabilized rifta pocket of corrupted mana populated with low-tier demons. Students were grouped randomly and ordered to clear it under supervision.
"Failure will not be tolerated," the examiner said. "Neither will recklessness."
Ryomen glanced at his assigned group.
A noble swordsman too eager to prove himself.
A dwarf girl with a hammer bigger than her torso.
An elf mage pretending not to watch him.
And a vampire noblewoman smiling like she already knew how this would end.
Balanced group, Ryomen thought. Meaning someone's about to mess it up.
They entered the dungeon.
The air was thick. Mana sluggish. Corruption pressed against the senses like damp cloth.
The noble charged first.
"Stay behind me!"
A claw burst from the shadows.
Too fast.
Ryomen stepped forward casually and nudged the noble's shoulder.
The man stumblednot enough to fall, just enough to shift his angle. The claw missed by inches and embedded itself in stone.
Everyone froze.
"What?" the noble gasped.
Ryomen drew his wooden sword.
"Left flank," he said calmly. "Two more."
They came.
Ryomen moved.
No wasted steps. No dramatic swings. His blade struck joints, tendons, pressure pointsplaces that shouldn't work on demons, yet somehow did.
Because the demons were always slightly off-balance.
Their timing wrong. Their footing imperfect.
The fight ended quickly.
Too quickly.
The dwarf stared. "You didn't evenhit hard."
Ryomen shrugged. "They were sloppy."
The vampire smiled wider.
Elowen's grip tightened around her staff.
This wasn't luck.
This wasn't talent.
This was the battlefield bending.
Deep within the dungeon, a sealed glyph cracked.
Just a hairline fracture.
Something on the other side stirred.
And far above, unnoticed by students and instructors alike, the academy's ancient wards began rewriting probabilities they had not been designed to touch.
Ryomen felt it and sighed inwardly.
Already?
The academy was supposed to be a slow burn.
Instead
Fate was accelerating.
And something, somewhere, had realized the crown prince of Arker was no longer just watching.